


Crimson Sky

by Akoia



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Bad Parents Jack and Janet Drake, Batfamily (DCU), Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Found Family, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Physical Abuse, Slade is not a good stand in for Tim's daddy issues, Tim Drake is Red X, Tim Drake-centric, Villain Tim Drake, Why do I only write angst?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:27:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27734542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akoia/pseuds/Akoia
Summary: Slade was not one to 'let it go' when someone owed him something. The debt Janet Drake owed him couldn't be paid with money. "Here," she pushed a scrawny little boy in front of him. "Take him."
Comments: 28
Kudos: 254





	1. Chapter 1

Wind can burn. As it runs across bare skin, the high speeds whip away at the soft flesh of the face, neck, and arms. It's the worst on the ears. He should have worn a mask. Or ear muffs. Anything but the simple domino mask that hid his eyes. He was only there to observe. Not a word was to be spoken from his mouth. He doubted it was for intimidation. At four-foot-three-inches, he wondered if anyone even noticed him. Especially, next to the man they really were there to see. 

Slade spoke, typically, in even tones. He stood in an almost casual stance, observing his new employer with the type of cool indifference that kept the line between man and myth blurred. Why they needed to meet on the roof of a thirty-story building, Tim didn't know, but he did as he was told. Not. A. Word. So he watched instead. He was good at that. They were meeting someone special. Black Mask. His guards were shifting around, hands curled around their guns, looking at Slade through narrowed eyes. 

"Last time we worked together, I don't remember it going well," Slade said, crossing his arms over his chest and cocking his head to the side. 

"Come on Slade," Sionis said, taking a drag of his cigar. "Consider it a favor to an old friend."

"Answering your call _was_ the favor." Slade gestured to Tim with his chin. "We're leaving."

_"No, you're not,"_ A gravelly voice above them answered. The heads of all the men on the roof shot up. The clouds parted and the crouched form of Batman hung above them like a gargoyle. They all heard the quiet hum of the LED lights in his cowl before he jumped down from the ledge of the roof, planting his boot in the middle of an unfortunate man's chest. He went rolling several times, before smacking into the metal rails of the water tower. He slumped forward, groaning in pain. 

Slade moved fast, grabbing Tim by the arm. "Base, twenty minutes," he said, before throwing him over the edge of the building, plummeting down, down. The wind whipped around his hair, his eyes filled with tears. His face stretched into a wide smile, spreading his limbs. Then his hand shot to his side and grabbed his grappling gun. He shot it, and it caught the stone of a nearby cell tower. He swung low, his feet brushing the pavement before his body was yanked back into the air. He released the hook and spun several times before hooking onto the next contact point. 

He sailed through the air, and he swore that he could fly. Before the dream crashed around him and he went flying into a window, the glass shattering around him. He was stunned, rolling onto his back and looked up at the florescent lights that were humming loudly above him. He sat up and looked at the stunned worker of whatever store he'd been thrown into. Another figure jumped through the window and Tim had to roll out of the way, when a staff smacked into the ground. 

He jumped to his feet and got into a ready stance while he sized up his opponent. The other kid had a good foot and a half on Tim. His body was also more muscled. It seemed that he'd come to the same conclusion Tim had if the arrogant smile on his face was anything to go by. Tim knew who he was. Had since he'd first seen the boy a lifetime ago. Since he'd shook hands with Jason Todd at some nonsense gala at Wayne Manor just nine months ago. Fourteen years old, violent, and the person ready to kick Tim's teeth down his throat. Robin, the second. 

Tim acted first, grabbing the small knife Slade had given him, 'just in case', and rushed at Robin. He feinted to the left and slammed the tip into Robin's shoulder then elbowed him in the face. He couldn't get sidetracked fighting Robin. Slade said _twenty minutes,_ and if Tim was even a second late he'd regret it bodily. He ripped out his knife and dropped to the ground and kicked Robin in the crotch. He turned and ran out the door when Robin fell over, gasping. Tim didn't look behind him, running as fast as his boots would carry him. He ducked behind a street corner into an alley and ripped off his coat, throwing it into the trash. He left the alley, walking casually among the people who were enjoying their Saturday night.

Inside, Tim was shaking with joy. He'd seen Robin up close _._ Not behind the lens of a camera. Not from the news. And while the meeting hadn't been a polite one, he couldn't help the excitement that coursed through his blood. He looked down at his hands and frowned. That was Robin's blood. He shoved his hands in his pant pockets and kept walking with his head down. He walked behind a group of kids a little older than him. He pretended to laugh when one of the boys told a joke. Then turned and walked down another alley. He wished he could have asked Robin for an autograph. But he figured that was more or less off the table now that he'd-

Tim yelped when he was grabbed by the back of his shirt and lifted onto a fire escape. "Thought you could escape me that easy, _runt?"_ An angry voice growled. Tim looked up, struggling in Robin's hold. He punched Robin's wrist and the teen hissed, letting him fall. Tim hit the rail on the way down and screamed, falling in the trash. He climbed out, clambering to his hands and knees before standing shakily on his feet. Robin landed calmly in front of him and cracked his neck. "I was going to go easy on you since you're like three feet tall, but I don't think a time out isn't going to teach you the right lesson." 

Tim's vision swam for a second. Robin rushed him, a blur of yellow, red, and green. The staff in his hands swung and hit Tim fully in the stomach. He flew backward. He hit his head against the brick of a wall. Sliding down and landing in a heap Tim groaned. He needed to get up. He'd been counting, he only had fifteen minutes to huck it back to base or Slade would come looking for him. Tim put his hands on the ground and stood up on shaky legs. He slid into the defensive stance Slade had taught him just the night before. "I don't really have time to do this, how about we call it even?" Tim asked, gasping, and spitting a mouthful of blood on the ground. 

"You've got guts kid," Robin chuckled, crouching and tensing his muscles. "How old are you?" He asked. "Where are your parents? Do they know you're out here with murders like Deathstroke?" 

Tim chuckled and winced when his chest twinged with pain. "Yeah...they know." Tim grabbed his knife and ran at Robin. Tim slashed upward, aiming for the face. Robin growled and smacked his hand to the side. Tim's knife flew out of his hand. His head turned and Robin dropped his staff to grab a fist of Tim's hair. Tim felt Robin's hand tightened before his face was brought down on a hard knee. Tim screamed when he heard his nose crack. He covered his face when he felt blood gushing from his nose. Robin let him go and Tim dropped to his knees. 

"What a disappointment," a voice sighed at the end of the alley. Tim looked up and saw Slade standing with his arms crossed. "We've trained for months and you can't even handle Robin." He walked through the alley. Robin tried to swing on him, but Slade swatted him away, dislocating his shoulder, and depositing him onto the ground. "Come," Slade grabbed Tim's arm and lifted him off the ground. 

"I'm sorry!" Tim said, instantly. He looked up at Slade. "I tried but-" 

"That sounds suspiciously like an excuse," Slade said. "Think about your next words very carefully." 

Tim closed his mouth, spitting blood out of his mouth. "I failed, forgive me." He bowed his head and looked at his boots. 

"Good..." Slade put a hand on Tim's shoulder and guided him out of the alley. Tim looked behind him, at Robin who was leaning against the wall, holding his limp arm by the shoulder. He glared fiercely at Tim. The boy bit his lip and turned away. He wondered...maybe if things were different. Maybe if Tim had been brave enough to climb over the garden wall when he'd first seen Jason pull into Wayne manor in the back of Alfred Pennyworth's car. Maybe if Janet wasn't such a- 

Slade held the passenger door open for him and Tim slipped into the car. He clicked on his seatbelt and wiped his bloody hand on his pants. Slade turned the car on and drove off into the busy streets of Gotham. "Despite your failure," Slade started, shooting him a pointed look that caused Tim to sink further into the plush seat. "You managed to incapacitate the boy for a moment. _And_ delt a lasting wound. I wouldn't be surprised if Robin was out of commission for the next week or so."

"Really?" Tim asked, looking at Slade through his shaggy hair. "Thank you," he said, sitting up straighter. He opened the glove box and grabbed a wad of McDonald's napkins and held them against his face. "My nose is broken," he said. 

"Let me see." Tim uncovered his face. Slade grabbed his nose and tugged it to the side. Tim yelped when it slipped back into place. The drive was quiet until they pulled into their base. "Get cleaned up and go to bed. We aren't working with Black Mask. Tomorrow, we're going to design you a new uniform. I can't have you running around in ripped jeans anymore." 

"Sure," Tim said with a shrug. 

* * *

There wasn't a single place where it felt stiff. He wasn't entirely sure what material it was made from. It was thin enough that he wouldn't overheat, but Tim and Slade had wired it so that he could heat it up if it got too cold. It was all black. Except for the bone-white mask with the red X painted on over the right eye and the red X stitched over his heart. Tim looked at himself in the mirror and held his head up higher. He'd helped build it. The intricate bit of nanotech that made his new uniform one of the most complex pieces of equipment in the world. Or...at least in Gotham. It _looked_ scary, which made up for Tim's less than intimidating height. He shouldn't even be wearing it. Slade had _ordered_ him not to. Not until he'd passed a test. The contents of which were not disclosed to Tim. So he quickly pulled the uniform off before he was caught.

It was his birthday, he noted. It had never been a special occasion for Tim. Or his parents. So he didn't see the point of making it a big deal. But now he was twelve. He'd be starting middle school that year. But honestly, Tim thought he would have skipped at least a few grades. So maybe he'd be in high school. Who knows, maybe he and Robin would have been in the same grade. But still, it was his birthday. Marking three years to the date that Slade had taken him from his parents. From _Jack_ and _Janet Drake._ They hadn't even called him. Tim knew that they had Slade's contact information, so if they really wanted to, they would have made an effort. Slade said they were bad parents. Some of the _worst,_ he said. 

"What are you doing?" Slade asked, opening the door to the training room. He looked at the rumpled uniform and the corner of his lips turned up. He crossed his arms behind his back and walked closer. "Timothy..." he said. 

"I was just..." Tim blushed and looked down at his feet. "I just wanted to see how it looked." 

"Look at me," Slade said easily. Tim did as he was bid and Slade grabbed his chin. "These uniforms are not fashion accessories. In our line of work, it's dangerous to give in to vanity. This is a tool. A calling card. And while you may be young now, you won't always be a little boy." He let go of Tim and turned around to look out the window of the rising sun. "One day, that X will strike fear into the hearts of your enemies." Slade looked at him and Tim shifted. "Do you understand me, Timothy?" He asked. Tim nodded. "Good," Slade said and walked closer. He rested his hand on Tim's shoulder. "But you still disobeyed me." 

He pulled his hand back and slapped Tim in the face. When he stumbled back, Slade threw a punch, clocking him in the eye. Tim fell on his back and looked up at Slade who cracked his knuckles. "Get dressed, I have something for you to do tonight." 

Tim groaned and sat up. "What is it?" He asked. 

Slade smirked down at him and handed him a towel. Tim wiped his face. He must have bitten his lip. He was bleeding. "Oh Timothy, you're going to kill your parents. Happy birthday." 


	2. Chapter 2

Slade believed in the power of music. Every one of Tim's training sessions was accompanied by a playlist of songs that added a bit of rhythm to his steps. The constant flow of the drums and guitars molded the way his feet should move fluidly on the floors. Slade's taste in music was surprising, to say the least. But Tim guessed that it was effective. "I think that's enough training for the day," Slade said, pausing the song on his phone. Tim stopped, breathing heavily with the sweat pouring down his face. He smelled awful. He scrunched up his face and grabbed the towel Slade was holding out to him and wiped his face off. "Make sure to ice your muscles before we leave."

"I don't think the Drakes will really pose that big of a problem," Tim said. He sat down and unlaced the wrapping around his feet, stuffing them into his gear bag. Tim saw Slade open his mouth and sighed. " _Don't underestimate the enemy,"_ he said mimicking Slade's grave voice. "Okay, I'll go ice down."

Slade smirked and crossed his arms over his chest. "Good." He looked at his watch. "We're leaving in twenty minutes." 

"Can I ask you something?" Tim asked, casually leaning back against the wall. Slade didn't answer so Tim eyed him wearily before continuing. "Why now?" He asked. "It's been three years, why kill the Drakes now? Why not then?" 

Slade tilted his head to the side and hummed. "I never intended to let Janet Drake live," he said. "She must have known that. Even still..." He shrugged and reached into his belt and threw a black bag to Tim. He caught it with one hand and opened it. It was a knife. The blade was sharp, curved at the tip. Serrated on one side and sharp on the other. The handle was a deep black that almost seemed to absorb the light around it. 

"What did she do?" Tim asked, running his fingers over the handle of the blade. 

"Something truly unforgivable," he said. Tim gave him a dry look. Slade laughed, something genuine, deep within his chest that rumbled his entire body. He laid his hand on Tim's hair and ruffled the mop of black locks until Tim was dizzy, and batting his mentor's hand away. "How about this, Timothy, I promise to tell you what Janet Drake did when you can finally defeat Robin in battle." 

Tim looked at him, blinking slowly. That was strangely....amenable of Slade. 

* * *

_Tim remembered that night like it was yesterday. He'd been in Jack's study. Tim was excitedly telling his father about the pictures he'd been taking in the park. Jack wasn't even paying attention. "Tim, why don't you go bother your mom," he said, not taking his eyes off his laptop. "I'm busy." Then he put on his headphones. The conversation was over. T_ _im's small arms fell to his side. He should have known better. Jack and Janet had only been home for two days. They would have still been to tiered from the flight, and the dig site, to entertain Tim. He was being selfish. He grabbed his pictures off the desk and hurriedly left the room, closing the door quietly behind him._

_Mrs. Mac hadn't been back for almost two weeks. She was on vacation, so Tim had been totally alone in the large Drake Manor. He'd just been so excited when his parents came home. He knew they were only staying until the end of the month. Six more days. But he just wanted to make sure he spent as much time with them as he could. Which meant he even skipped his nightly activities. He decided he wouldn't take pictures of Batman and Robin until his parents were on their way to Paris. But so far his parents hadn't even wanted to eat dinner with him._

_He knew his mom was in the living room, where she had earlier suggested he 'bother' his dad. The television was off, so Tim hoped that she was finished watching her show so she wouldn't be mad if he opened the door. He peeked his head around and his eyes widened. His mom...she standing silently in the middle of the room with a hand over her mouth. There was a man in the room, armored up with swords strapped to his back and a gun in his hand. He was leaning over Janet, hissing in her ear. He looked angry. "...think you can keep secrets from me, you stupid_ bitch!" 

_Tim didn't often act without thinking, even when he was young. But the nine-year-old was sure that man would kill his mom if he didn't do something. He kicked open the door and ran at the man who turned to him with_ no _sense of urgency. Tim grabbed a vase on the table and smashed it on the man's leg. A few pieces of glass cut the fabric of his pants, but he otherwise seemed unharmed. He grabbed Tim by the shirt and threw him across the room, into a table that broke under his weight._

_Janet, with the man no longer holding onto her, dashed to the door. There were thundering footsteps on the stairs, his head whipped into the sitting room, and looked at Slade with wide eyes. Then he looked at Tim and Janet who ran and smacked into Jack's chest, grabbing his shirt, and hiding his face._

_"_ Jackson!" _The man greeted with open arms as if Jack was a long lost friend._

* * *

Tim was packing his gear. Slade handed him a duffle bag and left him alone. Tim walked through the armory with marvel in his eyes. He couldn't take anything he couldn't reach but that still left with a plethora of shiny toys to stuff in his bag. He grabbed two gun cases and the adjacent ammo. Then filled the rest of the bag up with emergency equipment. Rope, tape, a first-aid kit. A glass cutter. Dozens of smoke bombs. Tim was smart, good at planning, and he also knew that _Batman_ lived right next door to his targets. Not that Tim was planning to make his first murder some long, drawn-out affair. He needed to prove to Slade that he could be cold and clinical. That he was a professional _._

He still couldn't wear the Red X suit- _yet-_ but he did have a single piece black suit that worked just fine. With boots, a mask, a utility belt, and a jacket. Gotham was cold at night. When he was ready, he looked like a short shadow with a gun strapped to his hip. ' _Are you going to shoot them?'_ He thought before carrying on with his preparations. There wasn't much left to do, other than find Slade and slide into the passenger side of his car. He had a cigarette lit up and didn't immediately acknowledge Tim.

While they drove, Tim was surprised when Slade looked over at him with something like _compassion._ "Timothy," he said, turning his eyes back to the road. "No matter how unkind they were to you, Janet and Jack Drake are your parents. And this is your first kill. I know this is going to be difficult for you." 

"It's not for you," Tim fired back, defensiveness rising in his chest. 

"It's different, I've been killing people for thirty years." Slade turned off the radio and the two of them sat in total silence while they drove through the streets. When they turned onto a familiar road, Tim felt something cold growing in the bottom of his stomach. "Timothy, I'm saying that this might be the hardest thing you'll ever do for me. It doesn't matter how much you cry, or how scared you are, so long as you complete the mission I'll be proud of you." 

Tim's head shot up and he looked at his mentor with wide eyes. Proud? No one had ever said they'd been- 

"We're here," Slade said putting the car in park. He turned the car off and opened the door before Tim could ask any follow-up questions about that very _strange_ and un-Slade-like thing that had just come out of his mouth. Tim side, letting his head fall against the headrest behind him before he hauled his body out of the car and into the freezing Gotham January night. He shivered for just a minute, letting the chill wash over him, before snapping to attention. Slade led the way, hands in his pockets. He was too casual, sometimes.

Tim always thought of his mentor as an ancient relic that held the wealth of knowledge that Tim needed to survive in Slade's world. It was always jarring when he realized that Slade was still...just a man. A human being with hobbies, and interests, and skills outside of assassinations and espionage. That behind it all he bled just as red as any human being. Tim wished he could forget. Keep Slade as the untouchable pinnacle of what Tim _should_ be one day. "How are we doing this?" Tim asked, jogging to catch up with Slade who was a few strides ahead of him. 

"That's up to you," Slade answered, throwing his cigarette on the ground. "You're in charge tonight." 

_What's the catch?_ Tim almost asked. He held himself back and looked up at his old childhood home. Janet and Jack would be in bed. They weren't night owls. Even if they weren't gone most of the time, it was unlikely that they would have caught Tim during his nightly escapades a lifetime ago. He stood straight and peered up, toward the window that gave him a view of their room. Tim put on foot on the wall and lifted himself toward the balcony, swinging his hips forward until he flipped over the railing, landing in a crouch. Slade jumped behind him and observed him quietly. Tim snuck closer to the window. As he suspected, they were asleep. Jack had a book resting on his chest. Janet was curled into his side, a hand resting over his heart. They looked so peaceful. "Bruce Wayne is right next door," Tim said. "If Alfred Pennyworth hears gunshots he'll either call Batman or the cops." 

"Correct," Slade confirmed. 

Tim grabbed the knife strapped to his hip. Quieter. There were eight points he could hit. And no chance of a Bat swooping into the room and stopping them if there was no sound. Tim looked at the lock of the window and rolled his eyes. He grabbed it and snapped it off, slowly opening the window so Janet and Jack didn't wake up. Now they had two minutes until the alarm started blaring and the police would respond anyway. Tim slipped into the room and walked over to Jack's side, looking down at the man who slept peacefully. 

" _Careful-"_ Was Slade's only warning. Tim hadn't seen the tray of tea and food that Jack had left by the bed. It turned over with a loud crash, and Tim stumbled forward, grabbing the bedpost to keep from falling. Jack's eyes snapped open and Janet jerked up with a soft cry.

It was silent. One second. Two. Before Jack pulled his hand back and aimed a punch for Tim's throat. He grabbed the hand and twisted, the action so ingrained in his head he hardly heard the crack or acknowledge the cry of pain. Janet screamed when she saw Slade. _Deathstroke._ "We had a _deal,"_ she said, scrambling out of bed.

Tim pulled the gun out of its holster and aimed it at Jack who was holding his wrist uselessly. Something was wrong. Tim felt the cold pit from earlier coursing through his blood. Sure, maybe Slade had poisoned him, part of the test or whatever. But Tim could breathe. Move. See. He saw too well, almost. He could see Jack's wide brown eyes looking into his soul, searching. Trying to recognize the person standing in front of him. Did he forget? Was it possible Jack had _forgotten_ that night? The moment that would be the most pinnacle moment in Tim's life. A night Jack had played a part in. How could he just...forget about his son?

* * *

_"You," Jack snarled, holding his wife closer. His eyes darted across the room to his son who stood on shaky feet and ran over to him. Jack couldn't push his hands off while he held Janet, so he let Tim cling to his shirt and cry into his side. Deathstroke was looking at the family with amusement._

_'It's a bold man who makes a deal and doesn't pay me, Jack," Deathstroke snarled. He leaned against the couch, crossing his legs and leveling Jack with a cold look. "An even bolder woman who thinks she can look me in the_ eye _and_ lie _to me. How dare you two piss on my leg and say it's raining."_

_"Daddy!" Tim cried._

_Jack pushed him away. "Shut up!" He snarled, glaring down at the boy who fell over. "For once in your damn, useless life, shut your mouth!" He screamed._

* * *

Tim pulled the trigger. He was surprised. He'd seen people die in movies. Seen fake blood, but nothing prepared him for the explosion of red behind Jack all over the pillows. The way he slumped backward, looking at the wall with a slack jaw and cloudy eyes. Tim took a step back, eyes darting over to Slade who was advancing on Janet, grabbing her by the hair when she dashed the door. Tim felt dizzy. The room spun around him before righting itself in a form of clarity that _hurt._ His father was dead. He'd killed him. _Tim_ had killed him. And it had taken no more effort than a slight pull of his finger. But the weight of what he'd done crashed so hard upon his chest Tim worried it broke his ribs. Shattered them. Turned them to dust.

Distantly, he was aware that Janet was screaming. Jack's name. Tim numbly turned to her and grabbed the mask, pulling it off his face. She would recognize him. And she did. Her eyes widened, she seemed genuinely surprised. Had Jack and Janet thought he'd just stop existing? How could they act like they were so _shocked_ to see him they knew he was-

No. No, he realized, they never thought they'd see him again. They thought that three years ago when Slade Wilson took their only son, that Deathstroke would have murdered him. They fully expected him to have died that night. 

* * *

_"_ Easy _Jack," Slade said, holding up his hands, whistling lowly when he saw the kid on the ground. "No need to blame the kid for your screw up, right?"_

_"Fuck you!" Jack snapped._

_"Stop! Stop, Jack, please," Janet begged. She covered her mouth and sobbed. She let go of her husband and looked at Slade. "We never told anyone, no one ever knew we'd even hired you," she said._

_"You know that's not the point." He drummed his fingers against the sofa. "The lies, the cheating, the stealing. I can count on one hand how many people have had the nerve, the gall to do what you two did. It's almost impressive if it wasn't for..." He trailed off and looked at Tim who was shaking with fright, but silent like his father had ordered. "You're in the family way now," he said. "How old are you, champ?" Slade asked._

_"N-nine," Tim whispered, not looking at the intruder._

_"Nine years old already?! Wow, I've missed a lot," he turned to Janet who was pale as a ghost. "Haven't I...Janet?"_

_She moved, sticking out her hand and roughly grabbing her son by the arm. "Here," she pushed a scrawny little boy in front of him. "Take him." She let go of the child, like even touching him would burn her delicate skin. "Just take him instead and leave us alone."_

_"Mommy?" Tim asked, looking up at her with horror on his young face._

_"Quite!" She snapped._

_Slade looked down at the little boy, disgust written on his face, which was mostly aimed at Janet. "You've really got no spine, do you?"_

_"Well if you take him, the debt is paid, right? So...go ahead...take him."_

_Slade bit his lip and looked at Tim who shook under his heated gaze. He reached out and touched Tim's cheek with his gloved hand. "Fine," he said with a shrug. "Fine."_

* * *

Tim was holding the knife in his hands, numbly walking toward Janet who was screaming at him. "No! Timmy! Please I'm your mother!" She yelled. 

And Tim. 

Was. 

...angry...

It was like someone else was operating his body. He screamed, tackling her to the ground. He sat on top of her and brought the knife down into her chest. She screamed trying to grab his hands. His face. His hair. Anything. He couldn't remember what she was saying. Or how long the struggle went on for. Only that when it was over, she was blessedly silent. And Tim was coated in warm blood. 

The alarm shrilled through the house. Slade grabbed him. Out the window they went. He was held tightly in Slade's arms while the man ran to the car. He opened the door and pushed Tim inside, slamming the door. At some point, between starting the car, and driving Tim passed out, head slumping against the glass of the car window. 


	3. Chapter 3

The warm water felt like needles on his icy skin. The washcloth on his hands was like sandpaper. Everything felt too...real. All of his senses were overwhelmed by red and the smell of metal. Slade let go of his hand, letting it fall to his side. He took the other hand and dipped the washcloth into the bucket of warm water and gently rubbed it against his skin, taking blood and bone and whatever else with it. "You did well tonight," Slade said wiping a spot of blood off Tim's cheek. "You didn't falter, not even for a moment." He stood up and threw the water into the bathtub and tossed the washcloth into the hamper. 

Maybe there was a part of Tim that thought... _maybe_ that Batman would save him one day. Maybe _he_ could even be Robin. But with blood on his hands-literally-that was nothing more than a pipe dream, wasn't it? Tim was a _bad guy._ But Slade didn't seem to mind. Not even when the tears gathered at the corner of Tim's eyes and spilled down his cheeks. He averted his gaze and waited for the young man to collect himself. "What now?" Tim asked, bumping his fist against the hallowed pit in his chest that at some point had swallowed his heart and stomach. 

Slade was quiet, motioning for Tim to follow him out of the bathroom. Together they stood in front of the suit that Tim and Slade had made together. Slade touched the glass case and the case buzzed and the glass slid away. "You're ready," he said. 

"I am?" Tim asked, almost breathless. The mask looked back at him, the bone-white metal skull. He didn't want to admit it. It was so much _cooler_ than Robin's suit _ever_ was. 

"Change, then meet me on the second floor," he said turning and leaving Tim and Red X alone together. Tim tenderly pulled the suit from its mannequin, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. It felt different. He guessed that Slade was right. He pulled his shirt off and slowly pulled his new skin over his body and felt himself shift behind the mask. Looking at himself in the mirror, he could almost forget himself. Forget that his parents were dead, that they handed him over to Slade to die for them. It felt light as air. 

When he left, he heard his boots echoing around the halls. Lonely. No one else was at their base. Slade was standing at a door, waiting for him. "Took you long enough," he said. 

"Sorry," Tim said. 

Slade opened the door, the room was pitch black, and Tim followed him in. He crossed his arms over his chest and his back went ramrod straight when the door closed and he was left in pitch-black darkness. Slade walked up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing. "Timothy, do you trust me?" He asked, something light dancing in his voice like he was holding back laughter. 

Tim shrugged, putting his hands behind his back. "I guess," Tim said. 

Slade walked away from him, his footsteps echoing around the room-which was _apparently_ a lot larger than Tim thought it was. "I said, one day, that people would fear you. And that begins now. I know you have unbridled potential Timothy, I know that you can be great. All we need now...is to turn on the Light." 

He flipped a switch and the room came to life, seven computer screens mounted on the walls and Tim covered his eyes with an arm. He heard voices flying around the room and when he lowered his arm, Slade was standing in front of him. "I've brought you a new instrument," he said. 

"You mean...tool," a woman corrected. Tim tried to peek his head out from behind Slade's back to see her, but Slade pushed him back. "I heard rumors that you had a new little protege, could that be who you're referring to? Oh, wonderful, just what we needed. Another testosterone-fuelled killer." 

"I assure you, Red X has my full confidence," Slade said. He stepped to the side and Tim set his eyes on the obscured figures in the screens. The room was so bright, that Tim was sure that he was just as hidden as everyone else was. "I've been training him for three years and he shed his first blood without hesitation. He'll work loyally toward our goals." 

"Hmm," a man hummed. "How old is he? He looks like a little boy." 

"He's twelve," Slade said. "And you should know better than most how dangerous children can be...Luthor." 

As in...Lex? Tim's shoulders straightened and he looked up at his mentor. Well, of course, it was no surprise that Lex Luthor was into some shady shit. But this felt different. Was Slade trying to take over the world or something? He didn't seem like the type that wanted that much responsibility. 

"Introduce yourself, boy," another man said, his voice much calmer. Bored. 

Tim's shoulders straightened and he walked closer so his figure was centered in the monitor. He bowed at the hips, arms tucked tightly by his side. "Hello," he started. "I am the Red X, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." 

"Oh how polite," the woman said. "Another little monster unleashed on the world. Hopefully, you can keep this one leashed, Deathstroke." 

"He's well tamed," Slade said with a chuckle. He placed a hand on the top of Tim's head. "I simply wanted you all to be able to meet my protege." 

"I might have a job for him," the woman said. "I'll forward you the information. I just hope he isn't squeamish." She pressed a button and her monitor went dark. One by one, the other five monitors all turned dark, each one promising that they 'had something for him.' Tim already felt tired. 

"Well, that went well," Slade said. "I'll have you follow Luthor's little errand this time. It won't put you in any real danger." 

"What was that?" Tim asked, keeping in step with Slade while they walked through the halls of the base, all the way up to Slade's office. He stopped, he wasn't _ever_ allowed to go into Slade's office. But, Slade waved him to follow into the spacious room. Tim was confused. He looked around, taking in all the nicknacks and furniture that he'd never seen before. There was even a Batman bobblehead on Slade's desk. Tim flicked it, watching the head shake back and forth. "Slade...what's going on? Who were those people?" 

"You're a curious little shit, aren't you?" Slade muttered, sitting at his desk and opening his computer. Several dings came in one after the other when he turned it on. "You must get that from your mother." He took off his helmet and set it down on the desk, his gray hair was a mess all around his head. He scratched at his beard. "Ah, here," Slade turned the computer around so Tim could see. It was a picture of a man, who wasn't aware that he was being watched. He had a baseball cap on and a jacket with the collar popped up. Yeah, surely nothing about him was suspicious at all. "Last spotted right here in Gotham. He owes Luthor some serious cash...ugh _how original."_

"So I'm supposed to kill him?" Tim asked, taking in the man's appearance. He still could feel his parents' blood between his fingers. There hadn't really been time to process what he'd done. It hadn't even been a full two hours since he'd killed them. He thought it was a little excessive, but he wasn't going to voice that when Slade had _just_ said that he trusted Tim. 

"No, you're going to cut off his left hand," Slade said. "It's just a warning. I'll send his last known location to your com. You better get going. Make sure you eat a snack before you leave." 

"Right now?" Tim asked. 

"Yes, Timmothy, immediately. If you're tired you can rest when you get back." Slade stood up and towered over Tim with his hands and his hips. "And you better be careful, Batman is probably looking for whoever killed his next-door neighbors. So keep out of sight and keep it clean." 

Tim nodded and turned around walking numbly from the room. There was a ding in his ear and when he pressed the com, information popped up in his vision. The target wasn't actually very far away. Maybe thirty minutes if he ran. If he didn't run into anything on his way. He grabbed a protein bar from the kitchen before he set out into the night. It was the first time he'd ever run in the suit, and it fit him perfectly, every movement was as fluid as water. 

* * *

James Cole was huddled in his apartment with a bottle of rum in one hand and a gun in the other. He was facing the door, his back to the window. He was nine stories above the ground, it was reasonable for him to assume that he was safe in that direction. But it was a fatal miscalculation. Or...it would have been if Tim had been sent there to kill him. Tim broke the lock as silently as he could, watching Cole carefully. Tim slide the window open and crawled inside the room. He landed on the balls of his feet and hid in the dark shadows of the run-down apartment. He grimaced when his foot touched something wet and sticky. 

"Cole," he called out quietly. The man turned around with a shout. He spilled his rum down the front of his shirt and started shooting his gun. He emptied it and someone from down the hall yelled at him to _'shut the fuck up,_ ' When the gun clicked he looked down it desperately, clicking the hammer and pulling the trigger uselessly. Tim stepped from the shadows, casting his own over Cole's prone for. He slowly drew the sword he had at his hip and aimed it toward Cole who pissed himself when he saw the blade under his chin. 

"I'll get him his money!" He said, backing up desperately. "I'll pay him back, I swear to God." 

"God isn't here," Tim said. He lunged at Cole, knocking the man onto his back. He held up his sword and buried it into the man's left arm just under the elbow. The man screamed and Tim winced behind his mask. "You should be praying to Luthor, he's the one who told me to spare you tonight. But...there have to be consequences for what you did. Did you really think you could get away with cheating him? You should feel so very lucky that he only wants me to mangle you." 

"What are you going to do to me?" Cole asked breathing heavily through his nose. 

"I'm going to cut your arm off," Tim said. The man started crying, blubbering like a child and Tim felt himself being more annoyed at Cole than pitying. Shouldn't he be glad that he wasn't going to die? "Shut _up,"_ Tim snapped. When the man didn't stop crying Tim covered his mouth with his gloved hand. "You have two weeks to get the money to Luthor, or next time it'll be your head." He let go and stood up, grabbing the sword and yanking it out of the man's arm. He raised it up at a forty-five-degree angle and swung down with all his might. The arm came off relatively easy. Then Cole turned his head and vomited all over the ground. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he passed out.

Tim saw the blood and knew he'd die if Tim left him like that so he looked around the apartment until he found a leather belt that he could use to slow the bleeding. For the second time in a single night, Tim was covered from head to toe in someone else's blood. But when he was sure that he wouldn't die Tim grabbed the man's phone and dialed 9-1-1 and asked for an ambulance. He grabbed the mostly empty bottle of rum and turned it over in his hands a few times. Then he tilted his head back and drank the rest of it. He choked, throwing the bottle on the ground and spit it out. 

His face scrunched up in disgust and he climbed back out the window, firing his grappling gun out the window and swinging out into the night sky. He saw an ambulance rolling up to the apartment and shrugged, moving quickly through the city limits. When he got back to base, Slade was gone. Tim took off his uniform and cleaned it off, making sure not a drop of blood or vomit was left. Then he stumbled into the bathroom. He got in the shower and turned the water on as hot as it would go. Then he screamed as loud as he could, slamming his hands into the wall. 

* * *

Batman watched the computer with narrowed eyes. It was running a DNA check. The bottle that had been left on the scene. It had been just a hunch, but he'd been around long enough to trust his instincts. The computer finished its analysis. It came up as a perfect match. Batman sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. How had he not noticed that Tim Drake had up and disappeared from the face of the fucking planet?

How did Slade get him?

"Is it...a match?" Robin asked, coming up behind Batman. 

"Yes...that boy is Tim Drake." 

"Well...fuck." 

For once, Bruce didn't have it in him to scold Jason for his language. 


End file.
